Tapestry Missing Scene: So The Rumors Were True?
by ficscribbler
Summary: After all the startling links to the iridium that had come to light that day, this was the last detail she expected Roxton to bring up for further discussion.


**319 Tapestry Missing Scene: So The Rumors Were True?**

Summary: _After all the startling links to the iridium that had come to light that day, this was the last detail she expected Roxton to bring up for further discussion._

Disclaimer: _The Lost World does not belong to me. *sigh* It belongs to New Line Television, the Over the Hill Gang, et al, …_

Author's Note: _This fanfiction takes place during the 19__th__ episode in the 3rd season (entitled "Tapestry"). It is not a stand-alone story; it envisions possible missing bits of the story that occur between the lightning strike and the final scene of the episode. According to my husband, anyone that hasn't recently watched the episode will be confused by everything that comes before the title question is asked in this story. _

*****

The tree house reeked of singed tissues, scorched wiring and charred radio components. By the time they'd finished cleaning up the mess left after Drummond turned himself into a human lightning rod, Challenger had provided Veronica and Finn with the basic facts about the airman's presence on the Plateau, the uncanny connections between the five members of his Expedition, and the priceless iridium now being stacked neatly in the tree house storage room by Roxton and Marguerite. The scientist's unusually succinct summary hadn't been anywhere near enough to satisfy the curiosity of the plateau-born blondes.

Consequently, dinner had been an awkward affair. The girls had peppered the European trio with questions all through the evening meal, seeking details to flesh out the story. For Finn, it was a fascinating and entertaining tale that gave her further insight into these people she'd found herself living among. Veronica's interest was rooted in the suspicion that this new twist was somehow tied to the trip she'd just undertaken in search of an explanation for the link between her history and that of Shanghai Xhan, revealed when his henchman Callum had tracked Marguerite to the Lost World in search of an artifact Marguerite had "temporarily appropriated", to use the brunette's phrase, from the Chinese crime lord. Considering the way events seemed to be converging on her home, she wanted as much information as possible.

For once, however, Challenger and Roxton seemed nearly as unwilling as Marguerite to engage in an in-depth discussion of their pasts. Having carried out secret work through at least part the Great War, both men understood the brunette's reticence in the face of Veronica and Finn's deluge of questions about the revelation that she'd been a triple agent known as Parsifal. Like her, they were all-too-aware of how much they really couldn't and shouldn't say about top secret war research with iridium and the how, why, when and where each of them had continued his own participation in the Great War. Roxton knew more about Malone's part of the story, but wouldn't reveal any of the confidences he and Ned had shared about the reporter's wartime experiences. Nor could either of the men enlighten the curious women about the Summerlee Commission's exact mission or effect on the war. Marguerite could have, but she knew better than to admit it.

About halfway through dinner, her tension eased to amusement as she watched the two men's awkward attempts to prevaricate without hurting either girl's feelings. The men were bearing the brunt of the questioning, since both younger women knew Marguerite was less likely to provide them with answers. Finally taking pity on the harassed men, she startled them all when she spoke up, "There's nothing else they can tell you. Neither John nor George knows a tithe of what really happened. I'll answer your questions, if you two will both promise that this is the first and last time we'll discuss this. Agreed?"

Finn nodded immediately, delighted with the usually taciturn brunette's offer. Veronica studied her friend keenly for a long moment before she, too, nodded. "Agreed."

"Alright then; ask away."

They did, and Marguerite actually answered. Startled and at first concerned at her unusual action, both John and George paid close attention and soon realized they were witnessing a superb professional performance. Reminded anew of the imperturbable woman in red they'd crossed paths with in London, they exchanged a bemused look and sat back to watch a master at work.

Observing the apparent ease with which she artfully wove facts into her answers without ever actually revealing the truth was an education in itself. Neither man would have suspected how little she was actually revealing if they hadn't known what they knew about the iridium incident and different facets of the events that had followed. They each had a partial knowledge of the ensuing success of Parsifal's infiltration and influence as a "double" agent for Germany, enough to separately recognize her droll references to several diplomatic incidents, highly ranked names casually mentioned, places described and battles outlined as Marguerite used historic facts to conceal the truth. She made her credibility more believable by allowing them to "catch her out" a couple times; afterwards she'd reluctantly admit further detail to satisfy them. But she never once mentioned anything that wasn't common knowledge to almost anyone that had lived through the Great War. In fact, other than dropping a few names both men were sure were meant to amuse them, she only spoke of names, places and events that Veronica had already heard her houseguests talking about through their years on the Plateau.

Challenger was fascinated. He glanced from Marguerite to Veronica; there was no sign that their perceptive hostess suspected her friend of holding anything back. He'd often thought Roxton was too susceptible to Marguerite, too easily fooled by what she said or didn't say, given that he himself had managed to see through her on more than one occasion. Now he had to wonder how much he'd underestimated her ability to pull the wool over everyone's eyes, maybe including himself. She was incredibly clever at deception!

When Marguerite began to look impatient and annoyed, it was a clear sign that she'd decided they'd been given enough information. It didn't strike any of them as odd; she'd conditioned them to expect her to grow irritable under a barrage of personal questions. When she finally responded to a question as if it were incredibly impertinent and irately told them to go jump in the pond, the younger girls laughed and left the table, taking the used dishes with them.

With a smug smile, she leaned back in her chair and folded her arms over her chest. "And that, boys, is how it's done," she said softly.

Challenger shook his head in admiration. "Truly remarkable. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't witnessed it with my own eyes." He pushed away from the table and paused to lay a hand on her shoulder. "Well done, my dear; very well done." He too kept his voice quiet so as not to tip off their younger housemates that they'd just been managed by Parsifal. Before he moved off toward his lab, he paused to address Roxton. "John, I feel it only appropriate to apologize for all those times I accused you of allowing Marguerite to wrap you around her little finger. I didn't realize what you've been up against until now."

The hunter chuckled. "No apologies necessary, George. I'll admit I suspected this to a degree, but even I had no idea exactly how proficient our Marguerite is at this." His green eyes settled thoughtfully on the lovely brunette he'd been courting. "Care for a stroll on the balcony?" he asked as he rose, drew back her chair for her, and offered his arm.

Her grin widened to a smile and she accepted his escort by settling her hand over the rolled-up sleeve hugging his forearm. "Nice to be appreciated," she quipped dryly, suspecting she was now in for a grilling she wouldn't evade as easily as she'd done Veronica and Finn's.

"Indeed," he agreed, tongue in cheek as he led her out to their favorite semi-private place on the balcony that encircled the inner rooms of the tree house. "I suppose it's hard to come by proper appreciation in your line of work, eh?"

"_Former _line of work, thank you," she pointed out. "And like any other type of employment, being a spy did have both its perks and its drawbacks. They tended to be a trifle on the extreme side, but…" Her eloquent shrug made light of those potential extremes. "You're right about it being unlikely that I'd receive any public acknowledgment for such services, but you have to admit it's a good deal safer to remain incognito. Besides, at the core, my war work wasn't all that different than anything else I've done."

"I was meaning to talk to you about that," he said, keenly noting the almost imperceptible stiffening of her posture. Not for nothing had he been observing this woman for the last three years. Unlike Challenger, he'd learned some time ago to read between the lines of the façades Marguerite adopted so readily; although he didn't always spot them until after the fact and might not be wholly accurate in his conclusions, he believed he'd discovered the real woman beneath her multiple guises. While he hadn't had much success yet at openly gaining the truth from his wary lady, he'd collected enough facts to have made more than a few well-educated guesses – and many of those had been confirmed this afternoon.

Parsifal.

It had shocked him when she'd first said it today, and then it had made sense on so many levels that he was amazed he hadn't guessed it before now. No doubt she thought she was going to have to fend off questions from him, too. However, he already knew more about the infamous triple agent's life than she'd yet realized, and a discussion about her existence as Parsifal could wait. Something much more interesting had come to light in today's slew of revelations, a facet of her life that, if he was careful, might open the door to learning more about his lady and forwarding his own agenda with her. But her guard was up and she was tenser than he'd seen her since the days right after she'd lost her chance to possess her birth certificate.

In fact, she'd been tautly wound since he'd stepped off the elevator this afternoon, their morning argument still unresolved between them and Drummond waving a gun in their faces. He'd always been impressed with the way Marguerite never failed to rise to the occasion. He doubted the others were aware of exactly what it had cost her to admit that she'd been Parsifal. He'd thought the consternation in her expressive face was over his own admission of being the infamous traitor, but once she'd claimed the title herself he'd realized her dismay had been because she'd known he _wasn't_ the traitor. She'd immediately responded by placing herself at risk to save his life. She had to have known John would never allow her to be labeled a traitor. She was fully aware that the scapegoat had known he was being set up in order to establish a cover for a triple agent, and she certainly knew John well enough by now to know he'd never allow Challenger or their other friends to believe she'd been an agent of the Central Powers. Admitting she'd been Parsifal made it inevitable that the triple agent aspect of the story would come out, but she'd done what needed to be done to keep Drummond from killing him.

Now there were four people – himself, George, Veronica and Finn – that knew the truth. Five once Ned returned, since there was little doubt that he would find out from Veronica. If even one of the five breathed a word about Parsifal's identity, Marguerite was as good as dead. By saving his life today, she'd placed herself in permanent jeopardy. She'd been prepared to die when she told Drummond she was Parsifal, might have died if not for the timely arrival of Veronica and Finn, and, ultimately, the fateful lightning strike that finally ended the threat to their tree house family. But although the immediate danger from the mad airman had passed, her exposure today left her vulnerable and at the mercy of the others for as long as they lived.

Challenger would understand and guard his tongue, but the younger adults would probably never grasp the power they now held over Marguerite's life. He had no doubt that his skittish lady was all-too-aware of the danger. There wasn't much that could be done other than to drop a word of caution in their ears, and that wouldn't be much consolation to a woman that hadn't had much practice trusting others.

The only thing he could do was try to alleviate her worry over what he himself might do with his new knowledge. She'd probably been quietly fretting herself half sick about how to handle any move he might make – especially on the heels of their argument this morning when he'd pushed her for answers she didn't want to give him. A long, tense day… his lady needed some levity.

It was that realization that decided him on the tact he should take. For once he would set aside his goal of furthering his pursuit of Marguerite. The only important task at hand was to grant her some relief from the strain she was under. If that meant waiting to find the answer to something he'd long wondered, so be it. Perhaps he could use the topic a bit sideways now, and then tuck it away for a few weeks until it was safer to bring up what he really wanted to know. She'd have no way of knowing, of course, but this would be his silent apology for agitating her this morning. Yes, this was the right thing to do.

She was waiting, watching him from beneath those lovely long lashes of hers.

Taking his time, he propped one booted foot on the lower bar of the balcony rail and leaned sideways on one elbow as he gazed down at his beloved. "So the rumors were true?"

Her brow creased. "I beg your pardon?" There had been all sorts of rumors about Parsifal. Rumors and rumors of rumors… which was he asking about?

Maintaining his solemn tone, he began to elaborate, "You convinced Tribune you could be a lizard, stabbed Kirin in the back while he was sparking you, knocked Dressler out cold – I suspect he recognized you? – deposed a devious homicidal Pharaoh, out drank Nemak and bashed him over the head, seduced Veronica's oversized prince -"

"Your point, Roxton," she frostily interrupted. Her eyes were flashing at this irrelevant recitation of the men she'd dealt summarily with in the first year after their arrival on the Plateau. None of those incidents had anything whatsoever to do with whether or not she'd been Parsifal. And even if there'd been some connection, she didn't like being reminded of such things. At the moment, however, what she particularly didn't like was having no idea where this conversation was going. "And this had better be good."

Blithely, as if he hadn't heard a word she said, he continued counting them off on his fingers one by one. "… Tried to blow up Burton or Applegate or whatever his name was, melted a lava man, burned down Edgar Gray's bar," he ignored her prompt and indignant protest that the bar hadn't rightfully belonged to that boorish lout. "You also wounded several pirates, had a questionable relationship with Winston Churchill – ouch!" He bent down to rub his shin where she'd kicked him in outrage.

She glared at him, hands on her shapely hips, toe of one boot tapping on the wooden flooring.

"What was that for? Anyone that calls the Lord of the Admiralty 'Winnie' has a questionable relationship with the man! And kicking me doesn't change the fact that only days after you were vamping good old 'Winnie', you shot a _god_, admittedly he was a somewhat questionable deity, but still, you shot a _god_, Marguerite!" he pointed out with a grin. "You cracked Jack the Ripper's head with your pistol, and if you hadn't been out of bullets, you'd have shot him, too!"

She eyed him, noting the now-visible twinkle in his eye. Her ire faded into cautious curiosity. This absurd list was an effort at teasing her? A rapid review of their conversation up to this point still didn't provide a single iota of relevance to Parsifal. What in the world was he teasing her about?! What could he possibly find amusing in such a list?

"I have no doubt that if that meteor hadn't fallen on Pearson Rice's head, you'd have polished him off, too," Roxton declared, tickled that he had her going with his whimsical ribbing.

She narrowed her eyes and stared hard at him, a look that had left more than one man quaking in his boots. Unfortunately, it seemed to have lost its effect on Lord Roxton. The oaf actually chuckled! Marguerite briefly considered kicking him in the shin again, but it hadn't made any difference the first time. She sighed, folded her arms over her chest, and resigned herself to waiting him out. "Get to the point, Roxton," she huffed.

He nodded, since he was working up to it anyway. "See, the thing is that up until now I've always thought you were just doing what you had to do to survive. I've appreciated how good you are at protecting yourself and protecting us," the British nobleman explained in as innocent a tone as he could muster, although he knew it must be negated by the laughter lurking in his expression. "Now I'm rethinking that."

"Do tell," she invited dryly.

"Do you remember those husbands you like to make mention of every now and again?" He nodded sagely when she merely quirked one fine brow. "Yeah, I thought you might remember them. I figured you were just pulling my leg about being married four or five times. But now that I've found out that you're really the Black Widow of Vienna, I've realized just how _honest_ you've been with me all this time."

Marguerite regarded him with incredulity, taking in the continued sparkle in his eyes and the quiver at the corners of his lips as he tried not to laugh. This was what he'd chosen to focus on, the very same day he finds out that she's a deadly spy?! Not a word about her being Parsifal? Nothing about how he'd sacrificed his honor and his family name for Parsifal's sake? He had nothing to say about what he'd given up for her, for his nation? He wasn't going to take her to task about keeping such a momentous secret? Of course, he'd kept his part in all this a secret, too, so she'd had good reason to hope this was one time he wouldn't hold it against her that she'd done the same. But her mind had been whirling for hours, racing through scenario after scenario of both positive and negative repercussions that might result from having one of her biggest secrets exposed.

And the one thing he wants to talk about – to _joke_ about?! – is that one of her aliases was based on rumors cultivated in order to gain entrance to certain elite societal cliques that catered to more risqué individuals?! And he's somehow connected that single identity with her behaving with _honesty_?! And what did the Black Widow of Vienna have to do with the list of men she'd dealt with on the Plateau? She was missing something here. "I beg your pardon?" she said again, totally at sea.

"Given all my previous misunderstandings about your past, I just wanted to let you know I understand now."

"You understand," she repeated flatly. What on earth was he going on about?!

"Yeah. Now I know you were being honest with me. You told me the truth. I'll believe you from now on when you tell me you were married four or five times. But I think it'd only be fair if you'd tell me whether the other rumors were true or not. Given that I've so often seen how easily you dispose of men that get in your way, I'd like to at least have a shot at defending myself if those rumors weren't just rumors. See, based on how you've dealt with men that show an interest in you here on the Plateau, I'm leaning toward believing that everything I heard about the Black Widow of Vienna was true after all. I must admit, finding out that you seduce older men only to do away with them so you can inherit their wealth, well, it has me worried."

Her silver-green eyes began to glitter again, with humor this time as she caught on. "Is that so?"

"Indeed it is. I can't help but recall that you once mentioned I was too old for you," he grimaced comically as he referred to the night she and Veronica had argued about their mutual interest in Alex, who'd later turned out to be a lava man. "Since that makes me an older man, and I just found out that you're the Black Widow of Vienna, it only makes sense to ask, don't you think?" he asked, tongue-in-cheek.

Marguerite nodded solemnly, although her own lips twitched with amusement now. "Are you going to drop me like a hotcake… if those rumors were true after all?"

He donned a patently false look of surprise. "Drop you?! Not for all the tea in China! But if the rumors were true, then in order to protect my life I'd waste no time letting you know that every last parcel of land, every investment throughout the Empire, and every pound on the Exchange – the entire Roxton family fortune, in fact – is wholly entailed, with the exception of this ring," he gestured at the signet on his pinky finger. "I'd hate for you to waste time and resources plotting my demise only to find out too late for both of us that there's nothing in it for you. I'm of far more value to you alive." He waggled his brows at her, delighted when her laughter gurgled up and mirth lit her lovely face.

"I'll keep that in mind," she assured him with the wide, open smile he loved but saw all too rarely. "The ring is the only inheritance with any value, eh? I somehow doubt your story, John." She reached out for his hand and turned it to examine the heirloom, tracing her index finger over the aged gold. "However, even if that were true, it would be difficult to surpass the value of an antique like this one. You have something worth more than this to offer me, something that would make it worth my while to keep you around?" she inquired with a sultry grin up at him.

He grinned, too. This was what he'd been after, her smile and the subtle relaxation of her erect posture. It was a good first step. Continuing the game, he leered, "Oh, I can make it worth your while, believe me!" He twisted his hand to catch hers, and lightly rubbed his thumb over her warm skin. "Care for a sample?" he suggested affectionately. "Just to compare to the ring," he added as incentive.

Her heart leapt at this blatant invitation. Apparently he'd forgiven her for snapping at him this morning and, more incredibly, he wasn't going to use Parsifal to blackmail her into granting him the intimate relationship she'd been resisting. The endearing man probably had no idea he was proving to be her hero. "It might be to your advantage to offer some evidence," she agreed, smile dimpling at his antics as she tilted her face upward to meet his already descending mouth.

Their lips and tongues met in a familiar dance that soon had them both flushed and breathless. Since their very first kiss, back when she'd bitten his lip for his presumption, John had tried to make it a point to pay attention to her comfort level in any intimate moment. Although she was often guarded in her responses, he'd been given glimpses of her passion. And once he'd proven that he wouldn't take advantage, she'd been willing to engage in pleasantly prolonged kissing. Of course they were usually interrupted, but on the rare occasions when they'd been able to indulge their mutual attraction, it hadn't been any better than this.

The roar of a T-Rex jerked them back to awareness of their surroundings, and Marguerite stepped away as the hunter turned his full attention to the jungle. His keen eye scanned for signs to indicate the direction of the king of dinosaurs, listening carefully and standing lightly on the balls of his feet to pick up any vibrations. After a moment, he relaxed and faced her again. "Not headed our way," he pronounced reassuringly. One glance was all it took to note the returning tautness in her slender frame, so he set aside the hope of resuming their titillating lovemaking and slanted her one of his lopsided grins. "So what did you think? Am I worth keeping around a while longer?"

Her kiss-swollen lips curved upward a little. "I'll take it under consideration, Lord Roxton."

His green eyes twinkled irrepressibly as he heaved a sigh of exaggerated resignation. "Well, I suppose that means I'd best start watching my back. Let's see now, how did the rumors say the Black Widow disposed of those husbands and lovers? I believe you mentioned poison to Huxley and Thorne when you were describing your career to them, but given your cooking, maybe those occasions were simply accidental?"

That little sally cost him an indignant punch to his shoulder, but it was worth it to see her silver-green eyes sparkle back at him as she warned, "My cooking isn't that bad, Lord Roxton! In fact, need I remind you that I baked a batch of cookies especially for you today, and you had three of them for dessert tonight?"

"Yes," he agreed solemnly, "I'll admit they did turn out to be unusually edible." He swerved away from the next punch and laughed at her predictably outraged expression before he relented and admitted, "They were good, Marguerite. Thank you. I did eat three of them, didn't I?"

"You did," she agreed wryly, "But I thought you were just being nice."

"That would explain me, but Challenger, Veronica and Finn each ate several, too," he pointed out fairly. "This batch turned out quite well."

She eyed him suspiciously, and when she realized he was serious she blushed with pleasure and looked away. "Oh well… Finn will eat anything," she waved a dismissive hand.

He let her shrug off the praise, knowing it had been effective, and returned to his theme. "Okay, so you're not going to poison me. Hmm, there were also whispers of a riding accident or two. I guess I should be safe from that one, too, since we so rarely see horseflesh around here. Hey, is it a matter of professional pride to you not to use the same method twice? I've noticed you've rarely dispatched a fellow the same way twice since we've been stuck here – well, except for the head bashing. That never seems to do the job permanently, though, so I suppose that means I'm safe from having my skull bashed in, eh?"

"Don't be such an idiot," she chastised affectionately, smiling again. "If I wanted you dead, you'd never see it coming."

"I suppose you could blow me up," he mused. "There are plenty of explosives handy down in Challenger's lab. Say, did you give any of the blighters a choice?"

She blinked. "A choice?"

"Yeah, did the Black Widow give any of her victims a choice about how she finished them off? Because if I get a vote about how you do me in, then I want to die happy."

"Happy?" she repeated, puzzled.

Donning his best lecherous expression, he lowered his voice, tilted his head toward hers and glanced both ways as if checking for listeners before he said, "My favorite rumors were the ones that said the rich old men died in the middle of – er – enjoying intimate relations with the deadly beautiful young wife…" His dark brows waggled again as she began to chuckle. "I'd be more than pleased to spend the last few minutes of my life in ecstasy looking up at you, so if I get a vote, please keep that in mind, all right?" He adopted a soulful look. "What a way to go, death by heavenly pleasure!"

She burst out laughing, and he smirked. "No denial, eh? I knew it! I knew it all along! There couldn't be that many rumors without at least some of them being true! It's the '_killed 'em with pleasure_' one, isn't it? Come on, Marguerite, you can tell me."

He proceeded to elaborate, proposing scandalously intimate positions that could have finished off the many men she'd supposedly seduced and married for their money. He accompanied his outlandish suppositions with cheeky physical poses and droll facial expressions that kept his lady caught between fits of hilarity and hoots of derision. His entire running commentary was performed quietly enough that only she could hear his outrageously inappropriate conversation.

Marguerite laughed until she cried, and finally held up a hand to halt him. "Enough, John, enough," she grinned, using the handkerchief he'd thoughtfully handed over a minute ago to dry the last of her tears. She stepped forward and hugged him, hard.

Stunned, he didn't respond for a moment. Slowly he wrapped his own arms around her as she remained pressed close to his lean body, resting her cheek against his shoulder.

Once he was holding her as tightly as she was holding him, she tilted her head and brushed his chin with a light kiss. "Thank you, John," she said softly. "I don't think I've ever laughed so hard in my life."

"Glad to be of service, milady," he answered gruffly, one large hand smoothing over her dark braid. "It was good to hear you laugh."

"You know the rumors weren't true, don't you?"

He caught his breath at this gift. Was he about to have his answer after all? "You weren't married?" he ventured.

"I was, but never as the Black Widow. I was young and naïve when I married, still trusting too much to appearances. Monte Carlo, not long after Adrienne was taken by those men I told you about. Handsome, rich…" she hesitated, then added so quietly that he almost couldn't hear her, "He ran through his fortune with mistresses and gambling before a duel with a lover's husband left me with an overdraft that used up what was left of the cache Adrienne and I had saved."

"Did you love him?" he asked thickly.

"No. I loved another man, much later."

Abruptly she shifted in his arms, and he had the feeling she hadn't intended to tell him that. He knew there wasn't much time left before she'd bring her confidences to an end and move away. "Did you make him pay for breaking your heart?" he asked gently.

"What makes you think he broke my heart?" she said loftily, "It's the Black Widow that breaks hearts, not the other way around, silly," she retorted. She leaned back to look up at him with a smirk. "That woman had no heart. She was a courtesan; her loyalties could be bought."

He lofted a brow as he caught the implications. "I heard about the Widow long before the war. Were you recruited for intelligence work that far ahead of time?"

"Winnie," she used the nickname deliberately with a gamine grin up at her beau, "is a far-seeing man, and there were a few others with the same foresight. At the time, the travel required by that line of work suited my own purposes."

He didn't have to ask for clarification this time. She'd been searching for traces of her identity and her family. "The international jewel thief was a cover for that, too, wasn't it?" he asked.

She stepped out of his arms and turned, but cast a look back over her shoulder. "No one's ever proved a thing, Lord Roxton. That's just idle gossip."

He followed her, pleased with the progress they'd made tonight. "You know you can only hide in gossip and rumors for so long, Marguerite. One of these days some perceptive fellow is going to join you at the costume ball and unmask you at the stroke of midnight."

Her smile vanished as she strolled back toward the great room with Roxton at her heels. "Won't he be in for surprise when he sees what's behind that masque?" she drawled cynically. She could well imagine what John would do when he finally figured out that beneath her disguises she had no more substance than the gossip and rumors that surrounded her life.

Her suitor understood what she meant, but he didn't argue the point tonight. Marguerite might not believe in fairy tales, but he had every confidence that one day soon he'd peel away the last of the multi-layered veils from his very own princess and give her the happily-ever-after he knew she deserved.

*****


End file.
